


We Haven't Changed At All

by storiesfromtheyoung



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Christmas, Denial, Exes run into each other, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, New Years, Past Relationship(s), Unreliable Narrator, holiday party, nosy friends, shouting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfromtheyoung/pseuds/storiesfromtheyoung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles returns home to Beacon Hills for the holidays and ends up face to face with Derek for the first time in almost a decade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Stiles felt bad for being late until he saw the cars parked outside of the house and reasoned that his absence had probably not even been noted. He paid the cab driver and then walked up the front walk towards the house, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. Even in the dark he could pick out the careful landscaping and the pristine white shutters framing illuminated windows.

Stiles checked his watch again before knocking on the door. He was only slightly later than fashionably late because his flight had been delayed and he hadn’t even had a chance to change before heading over. When he finally did knock he didn't have long to wait before the door was wrenched open, light from inside flooding the front lawn.

“There you are. We’ve all been waiting for you.” Lydia exclaimed, pouting slightly before smiling and bodily dragging him inside. Stiles always had the suspicion that Lydia was a psychic but it felt like she had taken it to a whole new level. He had a moment to take in his surroundings, noticing little things like the smell of eggnog and the gentle sound of instrumental Christmas music in the background, before catching sight of who Lydia was dragging him towards.

“Look who finally decided to make an appearance.” Lydia released Stiles and wrapped an arm around Allison's waist, resting her head on Allison’s chest.

“I can see that but no one else will be able to if you keep him all to yourself.” Allison said. Lydia pouted again before releasing her.

“I’ll be back.” Lydia said before turning on her sparkly red heel and disappearing into the crowd.

“I take it your flight was delayed.” Allison said, gesturing for Stiles to follow her. They wove their way through party guests before arriving in the relatively quiet kitchen at the back of the house.

“Twice.”

“Well we’re glad to have you here.” She said, smiling. Allison handed Stiles a mug of cider and got one for herself.

“How’s marriage treating you two?” Stiles asked after taking a sip of his steaming hot cider.

“Wonderful as always.”

“Lydia’s not driving you too crazy with the holiday parties?”

“What can I say, I married a hostess and my house was never mine again.” She said. Stiles laughed. They carried on like that for a minute or so before Lydia returned with people in tow. In an instant the kitchen was full of old friends all vying for attention. Stiles hugged Scott first, asked about the Animal Clinic and Kira and the new baby. Isaac was next, congratulating him on showing up late to one of Lydia’s parties and living to tell the tale. Everyone laughed except Lydia who snuggled back into Allison's arms, glaring at all of them. Erica and Boyd asked Stiles how the Pacific Northwest was treating him and he got to hear about their most recent vacation to Costa Rica.

The kitchen was nowhere near big enough for all of them but it felt like old times and it warmed Stiles better than the cider had. After the clamor had died down a bit and normal conversation had resumed, Stiles excused himself to look around. He hadn’t been at the Argent- Martin house since the wedding and so he wandered out of the kitchen into the dining room and then the living room. There were nowhere near enough seats for all the party guests because Lydia had a knack for inviting everyone in Beacon Hills so Stiles found himself leaning against the wall near the fireplace.

The song playing on the unseen sound system changed just as Stiles heard the front door open. He looked up from his cider and glanced toward the entryway. The dark haired woman who had just come in was hugging Allison and handing Lydia a bottle of something expensive looking. Stiles was about to turn his attention back to his cider when Lydia made eye contact with Stiles and beckoned him over. He dutifully went after taking the last gulp of his cider. He was halfway across the room, weaving his way through the throng when a second guest crossed the threshold, pulling their scarf off and closing the door behind them and Stiles realized why he had thought he recognized the woman currently arm in arm with Allison asking her about her archery.

“Derek, you remember Stiles.” Lydia said, facilitating the then inevitable reunion. Stiles took a deep breath and attempted a neutral expression when the second guest turned his head to acknowledge him.

“I do.” Derek said, his eyes finding Stiles’. Stiles exhaled and extended his hand because people change and Lydia’s holiday party was no time to be dragging skeletons out of any closets. Derek’s hands were cold which from Stiles’ memory was unusual. It ended up being a clumsy handshake, whether from the temperature difference or lack of familiarity Stiles could not say.

They didn’t have to stand there long before Lydia was insisting on a reprise of a few minutes back so the proper reunions could happen and the wine could be put away. Allison led the way to the kitchen, talking animatedly to Laura, and Derek and Stiles had no choice but to follow. Their little group was the only in the hallway but Stiles still would’ve preferred more space around him. He was too aware of his tendency to drift toward people and he knew that it was not the time.

Once back in the kitchen, Stiles found himself standing off to one side, cider growing cold in his hands. Derek and Laura were greeted and embraced and gushed over. Scott and Derek hugged for longer than probably necessary. Laura made a remark along the lines of “how cute” and everyone oohed and ahhed along as was appropriate. Stiles glanced down at the drink in his hands, absentmindedly wishing it was something slightly stronger.

Conversation took up like it was wont to do and Allison came over to Stiles’ corner by the sink.

“So, how’s the cider?” She asked cheerily.

“Oh, fine.” Stiles said after a second. Allison's brow furrowed slightly. She tilted her head and glanced quickly over at where the Hale siblings were talking to Erica and Boyd.

“It’s nice to see everyone together again; It’s been so long.” She said, her eyes still on the far corner of the kitchen.

“I didn’t know Erica and Boyd would be here, or Isaac for that matter.” Stile said. He set his cider down behind him and leaned back into the counter.

“Lydia convinced Erica and Boyd came along. As for Isaac, he still lives in town so it didn’t take much convincing.”

“Are your parent’s still in town?”

“No, they moved to France a few years back. They came to the wedding, though, and they visit every summer.”

“That’s nice.”

“Have you been to see your dad yet?” Allison turned her head back toward him.

“No, I only stopped at home long enough to deposit my bags. He wasn’t home for the few minutes I was there.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” She smiled kindly when she said it.

“He always is.” Stiles said, straightening up and looking for a good excuse to retreat to his place in the living room by the mantle. He found one in Scott who was heading that direction anyway. Stiles excused himself and left Allison and his forgotten cider to follow his friend.

He caught up to Scott in the Dining room and sat in the vacant chair next to him.

“So how’s life, besides being kept up all night with a baby?”

“Good, well great actually. Kira and I are thinking about moving to a bigger house this summer and getting a cat.”

“Don’t you already have three dogs?”

“Yeah but a stray came into the clinic a week ago and Kira bonded with her immediately.” Scott smiled, looking almost wistful. Stiles shifted slightly in his seat, looking around the dining room. The wallpaper was a greyish blue and the table runners were silver and the hardware on the buffet was polished. Stiles ended up looking at his feet.

“So, how about you, how’s life in Seattle?”

“Good.” Stiles said, looking up but not at Scott.

“How’s work?”

“Fine. We just finished testing a piece of software to help with weather forecasting.”

“That’s exciting.” Scott said slightly too enthusiastically. Stiles did his best to smile. There was a lull, a moment of silence amidst the murmur of other party guests that felt particularly weighty. The room felt cold, though most of it was due to the silver tinsel and not the actual temperature.

“Are you okay with Derek being here?” Scott asked, saying each word slowly.

“Scott-”

“Because if you’re uncomfortable-”

“It’s fine-”

“Because I know it didn’t end well-”

“I’m fine.” Stiles snapped, standing up too quickly. The smattering of conversations around them died out and several eyes glanced their way. Scott was halfway to standing when Stiles turned and started walking, intent on finding Lydia and thanking her for the invitation while insisting he was tired and should be going.

Stiles avoided the kitchen and instead planned on circling around to the living room by way of the entryway. He glanced behind him to make sure Scott wasn't following too closely and bumped into someone. He turned to apologize and found himself looking up at Derek.

“Sorry.” He said, though it was more of an exhale than an actual word.

“Yeah.” Derek said, glancing behind him toward the living room.

“I was just leaving.” Stiles said, grabbing for his coat from the open hall closet. He had one arm in a sleeve when Derek turned back.

“Good idea.” Stiles froze, his scarf draped loosely around his neck and one and a half arms in their appropriate sleeves. In the time it took Stiles’ brain to catch up, Derek had his coat on and had opened the front door and had one foot out of it. Stiles debated continuing to look for Lydia but then decided Scott would probably make excuses for his absence.

Stiles sucked in a breath of winter air and he wished he had worn a hat. Being outside cleared his head marginally. Derek was down by the street and Stiles followed under a hastily conceived pretense.

“Did you drive here?” He asked, standing on the curb a few feet from Derek who responded by holding up his keys.

Stiles looked over and raised his eyebrows. Derek smiled, looking just beyond Stiles out into the darkness. He nodded his head toward one end of the block and started walking. Stiles followed, his heart having picked up ever so slightly.

Stiles slid into the passenger side and rested his hands on his knees. Derek didn’t ask for a destination. He turned on the car and off they drove down empty streets. The car was quiet and the streets were dark and Stiles leaned his head back on the headrest. He took a deep breath before exhaling, closing his eyes. Derek spoke first.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I intended it as one.” Derek said. Stiles laughed, opening his eyes and glancing to his left.

“So why are you running away from Lydia’s exquisitely planned holiday party?”

“The same reason you are.”

“Allison tried to be subtle about it at least.”

“Maybe for you but her and Lydia cornered me after you left to talk to Scott.” Derek admitted.

“We need better friends.” Stiles said, turning his head to look out the passenger side window. He could Derek’s reflection ever so slightly in the glass.

“Did you know I’d be there?” Derek asked. 

“No, you?”

“No.” Derek admitted. Silence followed. Stiles looked out the window at the houses passing in what seemed like slow motion. The moon was out, a soft crescent lighting up the sky.

“We didn’t help our case by leaving together.” Stiles said after a moment of thought.

“They’ll assume what they want to assume, whether it’s good or bad. Either way, we know that the the past is the past.” Derek said. He glanced over at Stiles, his face an almost pained expression, as though what he was saying stung. Stiles’ expression was far from neutral. He looked Derek dead in the eyes, determined to hold his gaze.

“What if we gave them something to talk about?” He said, not sure if it was a joke or not.

Derek pulled over abruptly, putting the car in park and turning it off. Stiles’ heartbeat was so loud he could feel it in his face.

Derek hauled him in. Stiles’ hip dug into the center console and his seatbelt caught before he fumbled with the release. Derek’s tongue was in his mouth and Stiles’ hands were under his shirt. They clung to each other, trading sloppy kisses and digging fingernails into any exposed skin. The familiarity of it washed over Stiles like a calming wave.

He remembered the first time, a graceless endeavour in his old jeep. Their hands had sought any and all exposed flesh despite practicality. The next morning Stiles had a hickeys down his entire left shoulder and a bruise on his arm where he smacked it on the steering wheel.

The second time had proved to have more finesse and less urgency, a drawn out affair on an actual bed. Derek had lit candles and afterwards Stiles insisted on blowing them all out before they fell asleep for fear the house would burn down. Derek had laughed at him and pulled him back under the covers and Stiles had fallen asleep with Derek’s head on his chest.

He remembered Derek chasing him around the house when they’d been baking and Stiles had dumped an entire bag of confectioners sugar down his shirt.

He remembered their first Valentine's day and the drowsy late night texts and a score of inside jokes that made no sense to anyone but them.

He remembered how Spring turned to Summer and school ended and they spent June hiking and reading and staying in bed until noon.

The only light in the car was from the moon and a few street lights. They were alone, isolated in their own microcosm, a little universe that contained only them and skin and reaching hands. There was no urgency, no pressure to think about the decade between the last time they had kissed and how Stiles still remembered exactly what Derek smelled like.

Stiles remembered all of it, all the petty things and the little things and the joy of waking up with someone you love only a few inches away. He remembered how they’d spend afternoons on the couch reading with tangled limbs and full hearts.  
He was too far gone to stop his train of thought, too busy trying to feel all of Derek again. 

In August their love had died a bloody death and all of Stiles’ dreams had gone with it. The details of their fight were lost to time, something Stiles had decided he didn’t want to remember. In the face of the early love, the sweet and sincere, the memory of the start of Autumn hung heavy like a spectre. In an instant he was suffocating under the weight of it.

Stiles reached an arm out behind him and grabbed blindly for the door handle. Derek had one hand firmly attached to the front of his shirt but after a moment Stiles got the door open and pulled back, stumbling out of the car. He closed the door harder than he needed to and started walking. He knew his way home from there; it was only a block or so and it wasn’t even that cold compared to the heat of his blood in his face.

“Stiles-” Derek called after him.

“I know what I said-” He said, standing in some stranger’s lawn illuminated by porch lights. His back was facing Derek. Stiles couldn’t make himself turn around.

“Stiles-”

“We should do what you said, leave the past in the past.”

“Stiles, I-” Derek called after him.

“Don’t say it, don’t say it, I can’t do this again. There’s nothing left in me to love you, okay. It hollowed me out when we broke up and I can’t go through that again. I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Stiles walked home and Derek didn’t follow him.

His dad was in the kitchen when Stiles unlocked the front door and came inside.

“How was the party?” His dad asked over his shoulder, his hands busy washing dishes.

“Fine.”

“Did you see Scott?”

“Yeah.”

“What about-”

“I actually think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Okay then, sleep well.”

Stiles climbed the stairs, avoiding the creaky step by memory more than conscious thought.

His room smelled like it always did and he saw that his suitcase propped up next to his desk. His dad must have taken it up there from where Stiles had left it by the door.

Stiles pulled of his shoes and dumped them by the door like he always used to do. He undressed haphazardly, letting clothes land where gravity took them. 

He fell face first into bed and passed out immediately, the pain in his chest only then beginning to dissipate while he was unconscious.

Stiles woke up to his phone buzzing. He grabbed for it from where it lay on his nightstand.

It was 2 AM and Derek had sent him “goodnight”. Stiles rolled onto his back and looked at how Derek’s name looked on the screen. He allowed himself to dream for a second, to take a deep breath and to imagine what might have been had they been anything other than young and foolish and in their own minds invincible.

He deleted the text thread and Derek’s number and dropped his phone onto the floor by his bed. It landed with a thump and Stiles stared up at the shadows that the windows cast on the four walls around him.

Stiles cried himself back to sleep.


	2. Two

The house was empty when Stiles woke up. It wasn’t surprising; the world of the Beacon Hills law enforcement did not stop because the Sheriff’s son was back in town.

A quiet kitchen greeted him when he came downstairs to have breakfast. Stiles began the process of making himself eggs and toast before looking for his father’s home improvement list. It was a list on yellow notebook paper tucked in the drawer with the tape and the swiss army knife. Stiles read through the list while the eggs were cooking.

According to his father’s slightly illegible handwriting, the lightbulb in the linen closet was out and the faucets had started leaking again. The more standard items were at the top; half a dozen were already crossed off. The more ambitious projects, like tree trimming or replacing all the linens in the house, were toward the bottom.

Stiles set the list aside when he realized his eggs were well past done. He sat at the table and ate, looking up which hardware stores were open at that time in the morning. None were, but one promised to be open around ten which would give Stiles time to shower and get dressed.

He finished eating and cleaned up, leaving the plate and skillet in the dish rack to dry.

The water pressure in the bathroom was still awful but the shower did the job. When Stiles turned the water off he could no longer smell Derek on his skin. That bittersweet smell had been replaced with something equally familiar. His dad had been buying the same generic brands of body wash and shampoo for years, the stuff that smelled like it could pass for window cleaner, but Stiles had never minded.

He brushed his teeth and went to get dressed, his suitcase flung open on his unmade bed. Stiles was not a particularly efficient packer. Instead, he packed a little bit of everything which usually resulted in an absurd collection of clothes ending up in his luggage during any trip or vacation.

He settled for jeans and a sweatshirt and comfortable shoes. His hair was still slightly damp when he went back downstairs to the kitchen. Stiles tucked the list into the inner pocket of his coat and walked out of the front door when the clock on the microwave read 10:00.

As convenient as flying was, it did leave Stiles in Beacon Hills without car. He was only staying a few days so renting a car had seemed unnecessary. The walk to the nearest hardware store wasn’t the shortest but the sun was out and the weather promised to be bearable so Stiles didn’t mind.

As he walked, Stiles thought about his apartment in Seattle, the place he had taken to calling home. He had a life there, friends, the occasional significant other. He had a favorite coffee place and a bookstore where he knew all the regulars. He went to parties and work retreats and spent Saturdays at the library.

Stiles had avoided coming back to Beacon Hills like it was some trap that, once caught, he would be unable to escape. On the rare occasion he did return, he found it to be no more or less interesting than it always was. Being in Beacon Hills left an almost bitter taste in his mouth, a feeling that while the streets were familiar and the scenery nostalgic, he didn’t belong in Beacon HIlls. Stiles had built a life for himself elsewhere, a life that would be easily to pick back up, easy to slide back into like an old t shirt when he got back.

Easy was the best way to describe his life, easy and uncomplicated because that’s how he liked it. Friends were only as good as they were at avoiding drama and new favorite places could always be found. The world kept turning predictably, nothing ever changing except the seasons themselves.

Very few people went to hardware stores in the morning, Stiles learned. As he went looking for lightbulbs and plumbing tape, he thought about how other people had lives, lives going on while he wandered through rows of door knobs and garden hose nozzles.

The cashier who rung up the strange assortment of stuff Stiles had collected was cheerful enough and soon Stiles was walking back home, arms laden with bags.

The morning wore on as Stiles changed light bulbs and fixed faucets and did laundry, all with the TV on in the background playing some rerun of some long cancelled sitcom. Stiles preferred the meaningless noise it supplied to the alternative silence.

The quirks of his childhood home had changed little in the years he’d been gone. The same stairs were still creaky and the paint was still peeling in all the familiar places. Stiles wondered if his dad would ever move. He doubted it. The house felt inexplicably bound to Stiles and his dad. Stiles wondered if everyone felt that way about their childhood house or if it was specific to him. He guessed the former.

Noon came and with it Stiles realized there wasn’t much food in the house. He sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes, considering the best way to first go eat lunch somewhere and grocery shop after. Stiles had not been pondering it long when his phone lit up with a message for none other than Kira asking if he wanted to grab lunch and catch up. He responded with a “yes, could you come pick me up?”.

Stiles was cleaning the inside of a kitchen cabinet when the doorbell rang. He turned the TV off and grabbed his coat before going to answer it.

“It’s so good to see you.” Kira said, hugging him immediately. When she pulled back, glancing past Stiles and into the house, she raised an eyebrow.

“I’m doing some cleaning.” Stiles admitted and Kira smiled brightly.

“Fascinating, you can tell me all about it at lunch.”

They ended up getting sandwiches at some place Kira recommended because Stiles had been away long enough to no longer know what places were good for lunch.

They sat in a booth and munched away, only stopping for the occasional questions about life and family and work.

“I hear you’re in management.” Kira said, pausing to drink some of her iced tea.

“I think my job title has something in it about product integration but it boils down to making sure people get projects in on time with all the prerequisite paperwork filed.”

“How long have you been in your current job?” 

“Since this time last year. I’ve bounced around some recently. At my last few jobs I wasn’t doing much of anything worthwhile except micromanaging people’s paper usage. Things are better now.”

“That’s good to hear.” Kira said and she was so genuine about it Stiles couldn’t help but wince a little. They all were, his high school friends, so very genuine and caring and Stiles didn’t deserve it.

There was another lapse in conversation followed by a discussion of the perils of having a newborn in the house. All in all, Stiles felt good, comfortable almost. Kira had that effect on people. She had more tact than most of their mutual friends, a trait that made her the de facto mediator in many situations. So far, she hadn’t brought up the events of the previous night, and was most likely waiting for Stiles to bring it up himself. When he finished his sandwich he decided he might as well get it over with.

“We missed you last night.”

“Scott told me as much. He said Lydia was a wonderful hostess, as always, and that Allison remains a saint for allowing her house to be overrun on a semi regular basis.”

“I’m sure that’s not all he told you about.” Stiles said, looking at the table. Kira waited a moment before responding.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Stiles said, the word so practiced at that point that it almost felt true. Almost.

“Not just about last night or Derek. How are you with being back in Beacon Hills?” Kira asked. Stiles took a deep breath, leaning back into the vinyl covered booth.

“My house smells the same and Isaac and Scott and Allison and Lydia and Boyd and Erica, they’re all the same but this isn’t home anymore. Not for me. It’s nice being back, I guess, for nostalgia’s sake, but there’s a reason I haven’t been back much.” He said. Kira nodded understandingly.

“Is that reason not liking Beacon Hills or is that reason Derek Hale?”

“The former, though everyone seems to think it’s the latter. A more important question is whether Lydia invited him on purpose or it was simply an unnecessarily cruel twist of fate.” Stiles said.

“Oh she absolutely did it on purpose. She probably started planning your and Derek’s reunion the second after hearing you’d be attending her party this year.”

“Fantastic, why is everyone fixated on my love life when I was eighteen?”

“Stiles, I’m not sure how much you can blame them. You and Derek were nauseatingly, stupidly in love all through high school. Our friend group was basically formed to place bets on when you two would suck it up and confess your love for each other.”

“But that was high school and now we’re all facing our rapidly approaching thirties. What happened a decade ago can’t still be in any way relevant.”

“It can and it is because to this day, no one knows why you broke up. All we know is that one week it was business as usual and the next you two were not speaking. At first we assumed it was just a fight and you’d be back together in no time but months passed and you were both still wreaked. I’m fairly certain that there are still running bets and that Lydia has a ledger where she keeps track of the various theories. You avoiding Beacon Hills like the plague for the last decade has not helped your case that it was nothing serious or speculation worthy.”

“We wanted different things.” Stiles said quietly.

“Wanting different things and not speaking for ten years or even mentioning each other’s names are very different. We’ve even interrogated Laura Hale but even she doesn’t know what happened.”

“We broke up, plenty of high school couples break up before college starts.”

“Neither of you came home for Thanksgiving your freshman year. In college if one of you came home for Christmas the other didn’t. Your spring break plans always put you on different continents. It was pretty excessive avoidance behavior for a normal breakup.”

“Lots of people don’t come home for holidays.” Stiles mumbled.

“Tell yourself that or whatever else you want but know this, they’re never going to stop caring, not until you and Derek spill your guts or at least sit down and have some sort of meaningful conversation and stop avoiding each other.”

“Then they’ll be waiting forever.” Stiles said. Kira gave him a sad smile.

“Okay, if that’s really how you feel, a decade removed from it, then I have no right to pry. At least I can tell Lydia I tried.”

Kira dropped Stiles off at his house. She hugged him and wished him luck with the home improvement and life in general. Stiles did his best to smile as she drove off.

After closing the front door, Stiles leaned his forehead against it, feeling the wood imprint its grain into his skin. He inhaled, held it, and then exhaled, suddenly glad for the silence of the house.


	3. Three

Christmas eve saw no unexpected visitors to Stiles’ childhood home. Instead, he was inundated with many messages on various social media platforms asking him for a life update. Common topics included: asking about his life, the weather up north, and whether he would be staying long. Some of the people were classmates and some were his dad’s friends but they were all happy to hear he was back in town. At first his responses felt awkward and overly formal but as the day progressed Stiles became convinced no one was actually trying to interrogate him and after that he relaxed. His smalltalk gave way to actual conversations that felt comfortable and not forced.

His dad was out of the house dealing with the usual minor emergencies that always accompanied the holiday season so Stiles had the house to himself. His morning consisted of home maintenance but by lunch there wasn’t much left to do. He spent the early afternoon on his laptop responding to more facebook messages than he knew what to do with and looking at pictures of distant relatives’ vacations.

By 3 PM he was well and truly bored. He dusted picture frames and meticulously washed dishes and refolded clothes. He considered texting Scott but didn’t feel ready to talk to him after how he snapped at him during the party. His conversation with Kira prompted him to rule out the rest of his friends.

By 4 PM he had accepted that carpets could only be vacuumed so much and if he didn’t get out of the house he would start talking to the mop and no one wanted that.

He still knew the way and how the first few porch steps squeaked. The quiet of the surrounding area made his knock on the front door seem louder than it was.

Stiles looked around while he waited. The coat of paint was new, as was some of the landscaping but that was to be expected. He was trying to remember if a certain tree was new when he heard the sound of the door opening behind him.

“Stiles. I heard you were back in town.” It was Laura, leaning against one side of the door frame. She didn’t seem overly surprised by his being on her front porch but then again nothing really surprised Laura.

“You heard right.” Stiles said and attempted to subtly look past her into the house.

“Cora, can you get Derek?” Laura called over her shoulder. It seemed that after all these years she was still all seeing.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. So how are you liking being back?” Laura asked. They exchanged the usual remarks. Stiles had always liked Laura. Of the three Hale siblings, she had always seemed to be the level headed one where Cora was snarky and Derek was, well, Derek.

“Cora said-” Derek said, coming down the stairs. He stopped when he saw Stiles, who somewhat sheepishly waved. Laura looked between the two of them before quitting the threshold and retreating into the house.

“I thought we could take a walk.” Stiles offered.

Once they were out among the trees, the remnants of autumn leaves crunching softly under their feet, Stiles spoke.

“We didn’t really get to talk at Allison and Lydia’s party.”

“That we did not.”

They walked on in uncomfortable silence. That was a new one for them. Stiles shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, looking straight ahead as they walked.

“I hear you’re working with the park service.”

“You heard right.” Derek seemed content to not look at him. Stiles tried again.

“Do you and Scott see each other much, with him working at the animal clinic and all?”

“From time to time. The other day I found a stray cat wandering near the highway and brought her in.”

“According to Scott, Kira has adopted her into the family.”

“That’s nice.”

It was getting easier to breathe around Derek but not fast enough. Stiles reminded himself that it was okay that it wasn’t perfect because it was a step, a step towards progress and moving on. 

It took him a moment to realize that Derek had stopped walking. Stiles turned around to see Derek looking off into the woods.

“What do you want Stiles? Why are we out here?”

“Not talking hasn’t done us much good. I thought maybe talking would help us be friends again.” Stiles admitted, deciding that honesty was the best course of action considering how their recent interaction had gone.

“Friends? Is that what you want?” Derek’s looked at Stiles and it seemed as though his expression had softened.

“I’d like to at least try.” The following moment of silence felt like an open wound because that’s what they were, a wound that would not heal unless tended, unless they put aside their past and tried to build something from the ashes between them.

“Okay. If that’s what you want then I will try to be your friend Stiles, I really will.”

Stiles let out the breath he had been holding and attempted a smile which Derek returned. 

They started walking again and this time the trees around them didn’t feel quite so austere. It felt warmer between them. It felt like a beginning, them in the forest talking genuinely for the first time in years. Stiles smiled to himself, thinking about all the things they’d talk about, the old stories from highschool and more recent ones, how Derek’s laugh probably hadn’t changed. The feeling in his chest seeped into his arms and down to his toes and it felt like hope, genuine real, honest, hope.

They were taking the first step toward healing and they had done it without shouting or doing anything they might regret. For a moment, it felt as if they were really leaving everything behind, that is until Stiles recognized where they were.

He was about to launch into a story about some recent office politics that ended in a car full of gold balls when they stepped into the clearing. This time it was Stiles who stopped walking.

“Of course, of course we walked here, of course this is where the universe decides our wandering feet should lead us.” He resisted to urge to shout, to curse fate for its cruel choice of timing, to scream that they were so close. Stiles felt cold again, cold because once again the easy way out had eluded him.

He sat down first and Derek followed, both of their backs to the stump, both not looking at it but very aware that it was there.

“I really thought we could do it, just start talking again.” Stiles felt defeated for the second time in three days. He felt wrung out and over stretched and tired.

“I did too.” Derek sounded genuine and when Stiles looked him in the eyes he ached.

Perhaps, he thought, they were doomed. Doomed to familiarity, to companionable silence, to communicating with long looks and few words. No matter what they said, their actions or a cruel twist of fate would always come along to invalidate their good intentions.

“Why were we such melodramatic teenagers that we decided to have our first date in the woods?”

“Because we’re us.” Derek said softly.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? We’re us and we’ll always be us. Not talking didn’t work and talking led us here so what do we do?” Stiles asked, more to the woods than Derek who was still looking at him and there was the wound again, open and aching and angry. It was so easy to pick back up where they left off, to fall back together, to wander into each other’s personal space, to want to breath each other’s air. Sitting on the ground in front of the place where they’d carved their initials as teenagers was too much. Being around Derek was too much, it was all too much.

“Can I ask you something?” Derek said, breaking the heavy silence.

“You might as well.” Stiles said, resigning himself to whatever came next.

“Why did we break up?”

“What?”

“If we’re so unhappy apart then why are we apart. All of this pain of ours stems from breaking up so why did we?”

Their third option hung between them as it always did. It was why Stiles never came home, why they hadn’t talked in so long, why it still hurt after ten years. Their hands occupied the empty space on the ground between them. The forest was silent, as if even the trees were waiting to see who reached out first.Stiles thought about his apartment, about Seattle, about his job. He thought about the people he has been able to meet and the places he has been able to go.

It struck Stiles that his friends weren’t the only ones who never got closure.

“This is why.” Stiles admitted softly, looking down at their hands, neither of them willing to reach out. It was easier to sit in silence, their hands a few inches apart, the warmth of their skin through their jackets not quite reaching the other’s shoulders. It was easier to go on that way.

Derek was up in a moment, halfway across the clearing, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I can’t believe you. Ten years and you still aren’t willing to give me a straight answer? Ten years, Stiles, that’s a long time to sit and wallow in something. That’s too long. I’ll admit, maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough to get over you but you have to admit that you haven’t exactly made it easy. You show up at Lydia's party all tense and in need of rescuing and I fell for it again. I fell for your stupid, moody nonsense. All that about the past being the past and I thought I’d finally get closure. And then it seemed like you might still feel something and I let myself believe that this time it would work out. You show up today wanting to talk and be friends and I agree. We get here and you decide it’s all too much and we’re doomed because there’s still something between us. The reason this is such a struggle is you. You know why it's all too much Stiles? Because you ran away. You always do. Highschool, you ran. Two days ago, we kissed and you ran away. Even now, you’re ready to run because feelings are scary and you apparently can’t have an honest conversation. This mess, us, all of it, is your creation. I loved you, I really did. You were it for me. Even before we got over ourselves and started dating, you were it. You were all I ever wanted and then you started that fight and here we are, ten years later, still angry, still dancing around each other, still without closure. So I’ll ask again, why’d you start that fight?”

“Because I didn’t want to stay in the same stupid town my whole life.” Stiles was yelling now, standing up, stepping forward, shouting. If Derek was going to yell, he would yell too.

“Oh really.”

“I never understood people like you and Scott and the rest of them. Content to grow up two blocks from where they were born. You’re useless all of you. You have no ambition. You choose to grow up and settle down and wither without ever seeing the world. I wanted out and I knew you didn’t so I ended it. I broke us up so I wouldn’t have to endure some long distance attempt at love. Are you happy now?”

“Very. Was that really so hard to admit? Why couldn’t you have said that in high school? Were you so unwilling to be transparent that you decided it was better to cause ten years of pain? Was it so hard to let me have all the information so I could make my own decisions without you making them for me? We could’ve skipped to the good part, to this, to me making an informed decision. I’m done. Done waiting for you, done being hung up on you, done accepting you when you come crawling back only to start screaming about your pain and what you’re going through. I have a life and I don’t want you in it, as a friend or a boyfriend or an anything. You can keep your frustration and your self pity and your denial. I want no part of it.”

It stung. Stiles stopped thinking about wounds or fate or Seattle and just thought about Derek. Derek standing across from him seething. Derek turning around. Derek walking out of his life. Derek being the one to leave.

When Stiles got home, his dad had made dinner.

“Good day?” His dad asked.

“Fine. How was yours?” Stiles kept his voice neutral. 

“Only two incidents of Christmas trees catching on fire as opposed to the usual ten so I’d say so.”

“Only two? Whatever did you do with all of your free time?”

“You should be thankful that it looks like it’s going to be a quiet Christmas.”

“I guess so.”

That night, Stiles couldn’t sleep. He had stayed up an hour or so to try and read some product reports for work but ended up laying on his bed staring at the ceiling.

He felt sick and he felt guilty and it would be Christmas in an hour and he regretted ever coming home.


	4. Four

When Stiles’ dad woke him up with pancakes and hot chocolate, Stiles did his best to smile.

The hollowness that had taken root inside him dissipated slightly during a morning full of breakfast, the emptying of stockings, and the opening of presents. Spending time with his dad was good but otherwise it hurt to be home but not home, to be right back to how he felt at Lydia and Allison’s party: utterly out of place.

Beacon Hills and “home” were as incongruous as they’d ever been and Stiles’ fears about coming home had been all but entirely confirmed. Stiles’ past lived in Beacon Hills and that past was full of skeletons. His present and his future were in Seattle where he had built something and where he was comfortable.

Reconnecting with Derek had confirmed his convictions. Derek always did bring out something in him, be it for better or worse. The last few days had proved that, as well as proving that Stiles was no longer welcome. 

But none of that was a good enough reason to ruin Christmas, the reason he was in town in the first place, so Stiles ate his pancakes and opened his presents and watched how much he did or did not smile at his dad’s holiday puns. There was no point in giving his dad reason to worry.

They spent the day on the couch watching whatever Christmas movies were on Hallmark, only getting up for more hot chocolate and the occasional gingerbread cookie.

Stiles flew back to Seattle the next morning. He was at his apartment building by noon.

His apartment was as he had left it, that is to say, disheveled. Half folded clean clothes were strewn on most surfaces and he nearly tripped over a pair of shoes that were right inside the threshold. Stiles left his luggage by the door. He turned on the coffee maker and checked his phone while waiting for the much needed caffeinated beverage. He had taken a few pictures while in Beacon Hills and they had received far more likes and comments than any of his other recent posts.

He set his phone down when he read the comments from old classmates saying they wished they had had time to reconnect while he’d been home. Stiles poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned back into the counter to drink it. He felt a twinge of deja vu at the setting, at the awareness of the drink in his hand and the posture. But there were no people in this kitchen, no old friends, and the drink in his mug was not cider.

He stood up straight and coffee sloshed out of the mug and onto his shoes. Stiles took a deep breath, feeling the hot liquid seeping in. He toed off his shoes and socks, the dripping mug still in his hand. 

After he’d cleaned up the floor, the counter, and himself, Stiles contemplated unpacking. He ended up sitting on his newly cleaned kitchen floor with his head between his knees for a few minutes. The kitchen was quiet around him but there was no serenity in the silence, only the reality of Stiles being very alone in that moment. He did not want to think of the people he had seen so recently, the ones that came with strings and memories. 

The day was still young, Stiles reasoned, or at least the afternoon wasn’t too far gone. He could do work or laundry or even keep sitting on the floor feeling sorry for himself.

Stiles settled on laundry which consisted of upending his entire suitcase into the washer. He was about to close the door and start the cycle when he went to fetch his coffee stained shoes to add to the load. Stiles figured it couldn’t hurt because he wasn’t the nicest to his clothes to begin with.

He then did some work because there wasn’t really much else to do by himself. The week or so between Christmas and New Years was a purgatory of sorts. No one was around unless you had made previous plans and even then things could always change, like deciding at the last minute to go home after debating it for months.

Stiles’ work friends had ventured to see their respective families as they always did in December and would not return for at least another week which left Stiles in Seattle, not that he minded at all. There was always work to be done. Lots of work. Solitary work.

A few minutes later, Stiles was sitting at his kitchen table with his laptop in front of him. He sat back in the chair and looked around his apartment, really looked.

The kitchen was off to the left of the front door and the living room was to the right. A single wall color connected the two, a greyish blue meant to be modern. It felt austere. The couch was leather, the tv only a year old, and the kitchen appliances were all new when he moved in.

Stiles stood up and wandered farther into his apartment. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom at the back of his place. His bedroom was moderately sized and boasted a large window over his bed which overlooked the Seattle skyline. The furniture in the room consisted solely of that bed and two matching nightstands. The walls of his room were an off white color. There was no clutter. The bathroom was equally sparse. Only the necessities lined the sink. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than himself had used the bathroom.

The spare bedroom would probably have been a guest bedroom in another life, had someone else been the apartment’s first tenant instead of Stiles. At present, it was anything but welcoming. There was a desk and a coach with tasteful throw pillows in neutral tones. The one potted plant in his apartment lived next to the window. There was a single piece of wall art: a black and white photograph of two poppies.

When apartment hunting, he had considered looking for a place with one bedroom but had decided against it. He reasoned that he might need an office or space for exercise equipment. Other open house attendees for the building had asked him about what he and his partner planned on doing with the other room. Stiles had smiled and corrected then, explaining that he lived alone and that would most likely not change in the near future.

They’d looked at him more sadly after that. Apparently it was already pity worthy to be single and not really looking at not even thirty. Other prospective tenants had seen another bedroom as not merely a room but a promise of a future, a space to be filled with children or hobbies or even just extended family visiting for the holidays.

Stiles had silently disagreed with them and yet he knew in their eyes and in the eyes of some people he’d met since that he’d always be someone to be pitied, someone willing to rent an apartment with space for another person but no one to fill it.

Stiles had dated in recent years, in recent months even, no matter what any betting pool in Beacon Hills claimed. He went on dates with interesting people with whom he had no intention of becoming entangled. On occasion he entertained the idea of applying labels but that was as serious as it ever hypothetically got. No one had ever gotten anywhere close to getting a key or even, god forbid, an invitation to move in.

In recent years, Stiles had rationalized that he was busy, with work and with… other things, so relationships just couldn’t be a priority at the moment, not that he knew when or if they ever would be. He just always assumed that, at some point, they would seem suddenly important enough to demand space. He told himself he was waiting for a somewhat coherent sign, not necessarily a person but rather a daydream, an urge to find someone who would contribute something worthwhile to his life and, eventually, to his apartment. Just because no such occasion had yet occurred didn’t mean it wouldn’t, Stiles had at one point concluded.

And then he went home for the holidays and that idea seemed further removed from reality than before. Signs were for people living in the past, people who had a rosy view of others, people who romanticized the very idea of falling or being in love. On the plane ride back to Seattle, Stiles had concluded that such thinking was for people who simply did not understand the complexity of the world. There were no signs. Love just happened or it didn’t, simple as that. There was no use waiting around for it. People should just live their lives and not think about it so much.

Stiles returned to his laptop and shut it. He settled on the couch in the living room. He watched a few episodes of whatever was on. He had turned the TV off well before evening threatened to overtake afternoon.

He began to wonder whether anyone was still in town and not off ice skating somewhere surrounded by family and a general air of festivities. If Stiles remembered correctly, a certain someone might be around.

He called. It went to voicemail, complete with an automated recording assuring him that his message would be received.

“Hey, hi, I remember you saying something about not going anywhere for Christmas or New Years and I actually just got back from going to see my dad and I was wondering, I mean if you are in in fact in town at all or will be in the next few days, if you’d want to get dinner-” Stiles said, speaking until the voicemail system cut him off. It wasn’t the best message but he doubted the person on the other end would mind much.

His phone rang exactly fifteen minutes later.

“Hi.” Stiles said when he answered. He was still sitting on the couch at this point, checking email on his phone.

“Hi.” Malia said. He could hear street noise coming through the phone. It stood in contrast to the quiet in which he had been sitting. 

“So I take this to mean you’re in town.”

“I am.” She answered. The reason for her call hung between them, half on each side of the phone. Stiles reasoned she wanted him to say it out loud so he did.

“Are you free for a dinner tonight, say seven o'clock?”

“Yes.” She sounded a bit breathless but maybe he was imagining things.

“Okay.” Stiles said. They exchanged a few more details and at 7 PM they met at a restaurant not too far from either of their apartments. Apparently they lived in the same part of town.

That detail, that they lived within walking distance of each other, felt like something, it really did. Stiles did his best to ignore it.

When Stiles met her for dinner, he stood up a little straighter upon seeing her. Malia was wearing a dress and scarf combination that he thought suited her. They were seated quickly even without a reservation. There really was no one around during the post-Christmas, pre-New Years limbo.

“So, how was it, visiting your dad?” Malia asked once they had gotten their drinks and placed their orders.

“Fine, actually.”

“Good.” She smiled when she said it, a genuine smile, and Stiles relaxed slightly when she went on to change the subject. Their following conversation was light.

When they had first met, in passing at work back in November, Stiles had offhandedly asked if she was going home for the holidays. She had said no, that her and her mom didn’t have much in the way of a working relationship. He hadn’t pried because she had seemed uncomfortable talking about it but from that moment on he had felt like she was almost a kindred spirit.

A few weeks later, she had dropped some hints she was single. He had filed that information away for later.

As he ate and they talked about nothing in particular, Stiles thought to himself that, perhaps, Malia was exactly what he needed.

That is, until they got back to his apartment after dinner.


End file.
